


no here, here's where we belong

by blobfish_miffy



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Ask and ye shall receive, Boys In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and endless love, god he's so in love, happy birthday remy my darlin!!, it's tooth-achingly sweet, ringo is in love, starrison is pure softness, this is the quite possibly the softest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfish_miffy
Summary: They were facing each other, noses almost touching; if Ringo moved only a little closer, he’d be able to rub his own against his boyfriend’s, but he didn’t. He was content just like this.Ringo cherished quiet moments such as these.***Ringo and George are deeply in love and are disgustingly cute, because Rufusrant wished for them to be. I delivered. That's it. That's the fic.Title from My Love, My Life by Abba.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	no here, here's where we belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rufusrant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufusrant/gifts).



> Happy birthday Remy! I sincerely, truly, fully hope you like this little one - it's not big, but I hope you like it nevertheless. You asked for fluff and Starrison, and I heard you. It's what we - but _you especially,_ my darling - deserve <3.  
> Now: _Starrison._

**For Remy.**

George was sleeping. 

There was something inherently soft about his face when he slept, Ringo mused. When awake, George looked either murderous or ecstatic, but when his mind was floating in the vast expanse of his subconscious the expression on his face was as serene as could be. 

He was also tangled around Ringo, in a way only George could. 

His arm was slung over his waist, fingers just barely grazing the sliver of skin where his t-shirt had ridden up. One long leg had hooked itself around Ringo’s, ankles touching, heavy enough that Ringo couldn’t get away if he tried. He hadn’t, of course, because George was warm and his breath smelled like toothpaste and the remnants of the rum ‘n coke they’d drank with Paul and John earlier that night, and smell of it calmed him down more than anything else ever could. They were facing each other, noses almost touching; if Ringo moved only a little closer, he’d be able to rub his own against his boyfriend’s, but he didn’t. He was content just like this.

Ringo cherished quiet moments such as these. He would try to prevent himself from falling asleep until George did, for the sole purpose of staring at his soulmate’s face. He’d drag his gaze over tan skin, dust his fingers over a forehead, smooth out that perpetual frown with his thumb, and rest his palm on the stubble growing out of the exposed cheek. It was his goal to memorise every lone freckle, every stray hair, every beginning wrinkle, and every tiny scar. He wanted to fall asleep with the lad’s face burned on the back of his lids because that was when Ringo slept soundly. Someday, sometime in the near future, when they would be on a break from touring and he would be alone again, he wouldn’t have this privilege for a couple of months or so. 

But not tonight. 

_God,_ no, not tonight. 

George stirred. His eyelashes - those long, dark eyelashes fans tended to ignore in favour of Paul’s - fluttered as he frowned and let out a sigh. And as Ringo held his breath, his eyes opened.

Just-awake-George was almost as much of a treat to Ringo’s mind as not-awake-George was, his groggy state, messy hair, and confused squinting making him look like a puppy. Ringo grinned and stroked George’s sharp cheekbone with his thumb. His chest felt so incredibly warm.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “did I wake you up?”

“No,” was the immediate answer, before the lad closed his eyes again. The next words came out slurred with sleep. “Maybe a little.”

“Sorry,” Ringo repeated. He didn’t remove his hand and continued to caress the soft skin just above his stubble. 

George didn’t reply, just snuggled closer with a pleased hum. Ringo felt as if he were about to melt into a puddle of love-goo, was questioning how on _earth_ he, of all people, ended up with this beautiful boy. George had this ability to be white-hot fire, yet slow-burning ember all at the same time. His intensity and his repose were his strengths, and Ringo loved them all the same. He was entirely unable to believe that George loved him back just as fiercely. 

“Why are ye staring at me?”

Ringo swallowed the giggle rising up at George’s voice cracking and allowed his hand to leave George’s cheek and travel up to his hair. He raked his fingers through the thick, dark locks; George accepted the ministrations with a sigh. “I like looking at you.”

One eye cracked open, observing him groggily. A lazy smile tugged at George’s mouth and he leaned towards Ringo. 

The kiss was soft and sleepy, George’s hand now resting on Ringo’s cheek. His heart fluttered when a tongue slowly pushed its way through his partially opened lips, and he sighed through his nose in pure bliss as he kissed George back. That was another thing about George: his kisses were quite frankly the most healing thing Ringo had ever tried.

George was the one to pull back, hand sliding back down to Ringo’s waist and then forcibly dragging him closer. Dazed and happy from the kiss, Ringo couldn’t stop the excited giggle from slipping out as his boyfriend quite literally draped him across his chest, arms wound tightly around him.

 _“Love ye,”_ George murmured into his hair, seemingly drifting off to sleep again. “So much.”

“I love you too,” he replied quietly, nuzzling into the cotton of George’s t-shirt, and George sighed deeply before going completely silent. It didn’t take very long for his heartbeat to slow; the rise and fall of his chest became more and more consistent the further George travelled into his dreamland, tufts of warm breath tickling Ringo’s hair.

Yes, someday he wouldn’t have this privilege anymore. Someday, he would have to go weeks without seeing his love, weeks without falling asleep with him and waking up next to him. 

But that would be someday. 

Today, when Ringo closed his eyes, George was there. His smell in his nose, his heartbeat in his ears, his face the last thing he saw. 

And when George tightened his grip on his middle and buried his face in Ringo’s hair when a soft snore, he felt as content as could be.

**Author's Note:**

> My cat is dreaming so hard next to me that he's twitching. He's also snoring loud enough for me to get distracted by it.  
> That's it that's the end note.


End file.
